Looking out on clouds below me, watching the setting sun turn them from white puffs to rosey streaks, flying.
The huge noise of nighttime bugs, so loud I laugh in astonishment as I step into the darkness.
A warm shower and lovely bed after a long day of traveling.
Wearing a dress that makes me feel simultaneously comfortable and beautiful so much so that I forget to think about it.
The hot, misty smell of damp asphalt.
Exploring my grandparents’ basement and discovering, among other things, a 1967 bottle of wine, old photographs of my mother, a rusted wok set, a Bible of a girl now dead, and a harness of sleighbells.
A camera that allows me, in a small way, to capture the things I love and and take them with me.
Smiling at the over-worked waitress serving us dinner.
Rolling around on the carpet, playing with cats.
Soft, wet grass made for barefoot walking.
Talks with my grandmother in the half dark, revisiting memories with each other until we almost fall asleep.
The quiet feeling of my soul when it is full of good things.
If only I could learn to see myself the way I see the world.